I have gone from being sort of OK to hallucinating to being OK again to now being quite sure that I do not actually exist.
I might just be losing my mind, having a breakdown, not coping with life, or however you want to word it. I just don’t believe that things about this planet can be real right now.
So now I’m wondering if, months ago, I knocked myself out or died, and everything since then has just been in my head, because it has got weirder and weirder.
Maybe I didn’t even move house. Maybe it’s too mad to think I didn’t move house the first time. I feel like that one probably happened. I dunno about the recent one.
Maybe I’m dead and in hell for my dead son and all my poor decisions. Maybe hell is a lonely domestic life in the cold fog, with no friends except for someone far away who won’t talk to me, and the constant fear of a nuclear attack from a foreign leader.
Maybe that’s why I haven’t seen my family for months. Because I’m dead and they don’t exist here. Maybe hell gives me a partner who, despite having moved so close to his workplace, is having more and more of his time eaten by it, who comes home later and later, and, maybe one day, will stop coming home altogether. Maybe it’ll just be me, sitting in the cold and staring out at the fog over that wall, with an ailing old dog who eventually fades away and leaves me all alone. Maybe that’s what eternity is, loneliness and fog. Because I poisoned everything I ever touched, now I will have nothing to touch. I will just sit in the cold and grey, making posts on a computer that no-one will ever read. And that would be the worst punishment for me, worse than ceasing to exist or being in fire. Because nothing frightens me as much as the idea that nothing else exists. That there is no other mind out there to receive information from mine.